Possession
by mojoco
Summary: S/V Pairing. SD-6 is gone, but Sydney Bristow could never be free. That's why she isn't Sydney Bristow anymore.
1. Prologue

Title: Possession

Author: mojoco

Rating: R

Disclaimer: These characters are not mine, they belong to JJ Abrams and Bad Robot Productions.

Author's Note: Thanks to those who have reviewed "All She'd Taken" and "Any Way, Any Place." This kind of grew from those.

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Possess: 1. To have, as property; own. 2. To have as a faculty, quality, or the like. 3. To have a powerful influence on; control or dominate. (_Webster's Dictionary)_

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Prologue

The name she'd been given at birth was Sydney Bristow, but no one called her that anymore. Not even her husband. Honestly, she didn't mind. A new name made it easier to forget who she'd been-- who, if she was honest with herself, she still was: a one-time double agent, forced into hiding, a new life, away from everyone and everything she'd once known. Except him. She'd have died before she let any circumstances take him away from her. She'd already had too many other things taken away.

"Marc, darling," she said, approaching him then. It wasn't the name his parents had given him, either, but not even a flicker of confusion flashed in his eyes. He'd never been confused or reluctant to be called something other than Michael Vaughn, even in the beginning. For as scared as the two of them had been to leave their old lives at first, it hadn't taken long for them to fully embrace their new identities. Things were just so much simpler, now that they were no longer Sydney Bristow, double agent, and Michael Vaughn, her handler. Lover. Whatever. So much better than she'd ever dreamed they could be. Sometimes she couldn't help but wonder if they'd died and gone to Heaven.

Of course, Sydney Bristow and Michael Vaughn had died the day his car had toppled into the water with both of them in it. Oh, their bodies had never been found, but for all practical purposes, the two of them were dead. What no one but the two of them knew was that they'd been reborn, as Mr. and Mrs. Marc and Katherine Chadwick.

She hadn't even married him under her real name.

Dead people didn't have weddings.

Her husband lowered his sunglasses to look at her then, the gaze in his green eyes reminding her for the hundredth time that he really was no longer Michael Vaughn. Michael Vaughn had never gazed at her with such open, naked admiration and desire. He had been just as appreciative of her beauty then, to be sure, but there had always been something a little reserved, a little unsure in his gaze, as if he was afraid she was going to be snatched from him at any moment. He didn't have to worry about that now. She was his, all his, only his. Just as it had been then, now he was the only person alive who knew everything about her. And loved her anyway.

"Katie," he said, the name rolling off of his tongue as easily as Syd once had. "How is it even possible that you get more and more beautiful every day?"

"I could ask you the same question," she said, leaning down to kiss him. Within a moment he had pulled her down to his lap. She might have been worried that the beach chair wouldn't support both of them, except they'd sat like that countless times before-- kissing, every now and then, but more often than not just gazing at each other. Anyone happening onto their private beach would have looked at them an thought that no two people had ever been so happy, or so in love.

They would have been right.

They just wouldn't have known the hell the two of them had gone to just to sit on that beach.


	2. Chapter One: Better Already

Title: Possession

Author: mojoco

Rating: R

Disclaimer: These characters are not mine, they belong to JJ Abrams and Bad Robot Productions.

Author's Note: Thanks to those who have reviewed "All She'd Taken" and "Any Way, Any Place." This kind of grew from those.

__________________________

****

Chapter One

Most people have seen a movie or a TV show where a character fakes their own death, and they've simply rolled their eyes. "I'm so sure it's that easy," they tell their friends, and dismiss the idea as ridiculous. Impossible.

They're right. For most people, faking their own death would be ridiculous, impossible. 

Not for people in Sydney Bristow's line of work.

She remembered the night he'd told her: _You can't even exist anymore_. It had taken her a moment to understand what that meant, to not exist. And then she'd realized: hiding. They'd talked about it every time she'd threatened to quit SD-6. But this time, it wouldn't just be enough to enter the Witness Protection Program.

She had to completely disappear.

The night had started off peculiarly. She'd picked up the phone to hear a familiar voice on the other end: "Joey's Pizza?" To which she'd replied, more out of habit than anything, "Wrong number." As soon as she'd hung up the phone, though, she'd frowned. It wasn't that such a call was rare; in fact, they had become more frequent since she and Michael had started sleeping together more than a year before. But she wasn't supposed to receive calls like that anymore. As of that day, SD-6 had actually become the section that didn't exist. It was over. She and Michael didn't have to hide anymore. They could look at each other in public. He could take her home with him at night. Or so she'd thought. She should have realized all along that such ideas were naïve. Completely unrealistic.

But the thing was, Michael, usually her voice of reason, had seemed to think a real relationship with her was possible, too. "When it's all over, I'm going to call you on the phone," he'd said, eyes lighting up. "And I'm going to tell you that I'll be at your house in five minutes and that you'd better be naked by the time I get there."

"Michael!" she'd squealed. He never talked like that, or at least, he hadn't then. For as often as she'd told him that he would have to loosen up if he wanted to become the kind of man that could enjoy the kind of relationship that involved late night meetings at the warehouse and stolen hours in cheap motel rooms, that had never really happened. He'd loved her and had been willing to be with her any way he could, but she'd known that he'd hated having to sneak around. "I feel like some creep cheating on his wife," he'd complained once. 

"Darling, you don't have a wife," she'd said dismissively. She'd tried to make a joke out of it, but really, she'd hated how hard this was on him. A couple of times she'd even thought that it might be better for him if they just ended it, but she'd never quite been able to bring herself to do it. Anyway, deep down she'd known that as long as she existed, there would be no one else for him.

Imagine her surprise the night he'd told her that she wasn't allowed to exist anymore.

As odd as she'd thought it had been to get a call for Joey's Pizza, it hadn't immediately occurred to her that something was wrong. _Maybe he just wants to see me one last time at the warehouse,_ she reasoned. After all, that was where they'd shared their first kiss, where they'd made love for the first time-- if it could be called _making love_ when it was done up against a chain link fence, her skirt up around her waist, his pants down around his ankles. Personally, under other circumstances she probably would have chosen a cruder term for it. But this was Michael.

When she'd gotten there, though, Michael had worked himself into a panic, and it had scared her. Sloane knew, he'd told her, that she'd been the one to help put him behind bars. What was more, Sloane had friends who weren't locked up, and she had just earned herself more new enemies than she could count. "You can't go home again," he'd told her. And then the words she'd never forget: "You can't even exist anymore."

She'd lashed out at him, asking how he could have let this happen. She might as well have punched him in the stomach while she was at it. "Syd," he'd said. "You know that I'd never do anything to hurt you."

"Right," she'd snapped. "You'd just turn me into a goddamned ghost."

He'd only stared at her, pain clouding his beautiful green eyes.

"So what happens now?" she'd asked, voice laced with bitterness. "I run?"

And he'd returned her gaze, steel replacing the beaten look in his eyes. "No," he'd responded. "We run."

She'd tried to talk him out of it. She probably hadn't tried hard enough. She'd probably spoken in a voice that begged to be ignored. But she'd tried, asking why he should have to leave his job, his life.

"My job is nothing," he'd said, his voice flat. "Just what I do. And you are my life."

She'd known he thought he meant it, but it wasn't exactly true. Yes, she was important to him, but his _life_? No. He had a job, friends, family. And her. If he ran, she would be his everything, and he hers, and they would possess each other as completely and fully as only two people who had nothing else could.

She would be his. All his. Only his.

And so they'd gotten in the car and driven, finally parking it in the Gulf of Mexico.

People scoffed at the idea of faking your own death. What they didn't know was how easy it could be, if you knew what you were doing.

It was even easier to be reborn. Take a new name, live a new life. Drivers licenses, birth certificates, passports. These were all things that could be faked.

They spent the night of their deaths in a seedy motel not unlike one of the dozens they'd met in over the past year. They would begin their new lives in the morning. He hadn't told her where they'd be going. She hadn't asked.

And she gazed at their passports, staring down at names that meant nothing to her. After all, they were just names, belonging to people who had no pasts, whose futures hadn't been determined yet. Newborns.

"Katherine Cavanaugh and Marc Chadwick," she murmured, gazing at the birth certificates. According to hers, she'd been born in Corpus Christi, Texas. Yes. In a way, she had been, or Katherine Cavanaugh had been, if that was who she was now.

"Uh-huh," Michael murmured. He was sitting up against the headboard of the bed, watching the news and sipping Jack Daniels from a plastic cup. She supposed he deserved a drink. She could have probably used one, too.

"Michael…Marc." The new name suited him, she supposed. What was a name, anyway?

Except…she'd never forget how he smiled the first time she called him Michael instead of Vaughn.

He looked up at her, raising his eyebrows. "Katherine?" He said it as a question, as if he weren't 100% sure that was who she was. Honestly, she wasn't quite sure, either.

But still she joined him on the bed, taking his drink from him as she arranged herself so she was facing him, straddling him. He looked so beautiful, so perfect. Her guardian angel. "Hardly anyone goes by Katherine, you know," she told him as she sipped the whiskey. "They go by Kat, or Kathy."

He stared at her for a moment, taking the plastic cup from her and taking another drink. Actually, he gulped the last of it, tossing the empty cup onto the floor before he touched her cheek. "Or Katie."

"Katie it is then," she whispered, leaning forward to kiss him. "Darling?" she whispered once they'd parted. She didn't want to call him Marc just then. What she had to say next was meant for Michael. Except Michael was dead.

"Yes, honey?" She smiled. He understood. Of course he understood.

She took his hand, lacing her fingers through his. "Thank you. For everything."

He smiled, only a flicker of a smile. Such a sad smile. She wanted to tell him he could go ahead and cry if he wanted to. He had reason to cry. He had reason to want to run as far the hell away from her as he could get. After all, she'd destroyed him, killed him. Made him into a ghost like she'd had to be. 

"Maybe we should just go to sleep," he whispered, and then her eyes filled with tears, too. For once, he didn't try to wipe them away.

"Okay," she said, climbing off of him and settling next to him. He put his arm around her, kissed the top of her head, and they closed their eyes. But she didn't think either of them got much sleep that night.

In the morning, she stared at their birth certificates, glancing up at him as he stood at the mirror in his undershirt and boxers, shaving.

Birth certificates. So easy to fake. And there were so many things that were so easy to obtain if you had one. 

Like marriage licenses.

"Marc?" she called, and he glanced up at her. He hadn't seemed surprised to be called by the new name, yet the look in his eyes almost shocked her. She could always tell exactly what he was thinking, feeling when she looked into those green eyes of his, and just then she wished that wasn't the case. He looked cold. Dead. _Maybe this is the wrong time_, she thought.

Or maybe it was exactly right. Maybe this would give him some life back.

Still, she felt strangely nervous when she opened her mouth, as nervous as when she'd asked him to that hockey game a lifetime before.

"What if my last name was Chadwick, too?" she blurted out.

For a moment, his eyes lightened, but just as quickly, they dimmed again. "I'm not sure what you mean, Katherine."

He hadn't reacted when she'd called him Marc, but she winced at the sound of her new name. Especially since he hadn't called her Katie. The full thing sounded like a punishment. Yet still she dared to stand, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind and pulling him to her. "Marry me, Michael."

He took her hands, extracting himself from her embrace. "Michael is dead."

Her eyes filled with tears, but she forced them to meet his, reflected in the mirror. "Then marry me, Marc."

"You don't know Marc," he said, his voice clipped. "And I don't know you. Katherine."

She managed to work her way between him and the sink, wrapping her arms around his neck. He didn't shrug her off, but he didn't touch her, either. "How do you know?" she whispered. "Maybe Marc and Katherine are as in love as Michael and Sydney were."

He looked down at her. Damn those green eyes, full of enough pain to break her heart. "Is that even possible?"

"Well, Katherine is definitely in love with Marc," she told him. She took one of her arms from his neck, lifting a washcloth from the sink and using it to wipe away the shaving cream that still clung to his face.

"Syd, I wasn't finished shaving!" he exclaimed, then bit his lower lip, realizing his mistake. "So," he said, his voice soft as he gently extracted the cloth from her hand. "What makes Katherine love Marc so much?"

She gazed up at him, lips softening into a smile. He almost sounded hopeful. Sure, she had killed him. But she could breathe life into him again, she knew she could. "To begin with?" she said, caressing his cheek. "Everything."

"Syd--" he began, and she lifted his hand to cover his mouth.

"He's beautiful, for one thing," she said. "The most beautiful man she's ever seen."

He blushed, looking away, but he didn't tell her to stop.

"He looks out for her. She thinks he worries too much, but secretly she likes it."

The corners of his mouth turned up into a smile, encouraging her to keep going.

"Mostly, though, she just loves the little things," she said. "The way he pulls her to him when they sleep, even after they've been fighting. The way his eyes light up when she walks into a room. The way, every once in awhile, he can stop being so serious for a minute and say or do something that'll completely blow her mind."

He lifted his hand to touch her cheek, slowly, tentatively. "Maybe now he won't have to worry so much," he whispered. "And he can blow her mind more often."

"She'd like that," she responded.

He placed his hands on her waist, lifting her so she was sitting on the counter. "Wait here." She watched in a mixture of curiosity and amusement as he located his jacket and shoved his hand into the right front pocket.

And removed a little black box that could only contain one thing.

"Syd…Katie," he said, his voice soft as he opened the box. "Whatever your name is, I love you, and I would like very much for you to be my wife. Will you marry me?"

Her eyes filled with tears. "Michael." Once he put that ring on her finger, she vowed she'd never call him that again. But just then she really wanted Sydney Bristow to say that yes, she'd marry Michael Vaughn. "Of course I will."

He pulled her to him, hugging her more tightly than she'd ever been held before. "You've been planning this?" she whispered.

"Sort of," he responded. "I wanted to propose when we took down SD-6--"

"Michael--" she tried to interrupt, but he would have none of it.

"--But that didn't turn out quite the way I'd hoped," he finished.

She offered him a tentative smile. "Maybe it'll be better this way."

He brought her hand to his lips, and when he took it away, he slid the ring onto her finger. "I'll do everything in my power to make sure that it is."

And he kissed her, and she believed him.

He'd made everything better already. 


	3. Chapter Two: The Same Little Island

Title: Possession

Author: mojoco

Rating: R

Disclaimer: These characters are not mine, they belong to JJ Abrams and Bad Robot Productions.

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Chapter Two: The Same Little Island

Sydney had lived a lie before, but it had been different then. Then, her friends had known some things about her-- her name, her birthday, what she was studying in graduate school. They just didn't know the truth about where she was when she wasn't with them.

Now it was a whole different story. It was one thing to hide things from people, to lie about one aspect of your life; it was quite another to lie about everything. Where you were from. Where you went to college. Where you met your husband.

She and Michael had made love in the seedy hotel room on their wedding night, and she had enjoyed it, she supposed. So had he, judging by the sounds he'd made. But something had just felt…off. They'd been too urgent, too eager. They hadn't felt like talking afterwards, but they hadn't been able to stand the silence, either. So they'd simply started again, taking each other over and over until they were both exhausted. She'd never in a million years know how they'd managed. She was sore for days afterwards.

But she'd known why they'd taken each other with such urgency. They'd been doing the same thing Michael had been doing the night before with the Jack Daniels. The last couple of days had been so emotionally draining. At night, all they wanted was to feel numb.

She hoped it was working for Michael. Because when she closed her eyes at night, all she could see was the people they'd left behind.

Her father. He'd probably guessed they were still alive, but he would be smart enough not to come after them. Actually, Sydney was worried about him. He'd had a part in the demise of SD-6, too. Hopefully he'd been able to take care of himself, or the CIA had found a way to make sure he was safe. She'd wanted to ask Michael if he knew anything, but the truth was, she was afraid of the answer.

Francie. She'd be so confused. Maybe Will would tell her what he knew about SD-6, but still, he didn't know enough to make sense out of everything. He would hate that she'd been with another man when it had happened. He'd probably even find a way to blame Michael.

Not Weiss. Weiss would blame her, just as she suspected he blamed her for every risk, every chance Michael had taken for her. Of course, he was right. She was at least partly to blame.

And Michael's poor mother. What would she say when she learned that her son had died, in a car accident with some girl she'd never heard of, in a place he shouldn't have even been? Sydney couldn't help it. She started to cry, not so much for herself, but for all of the people whose lives she'd drastically altered.

"Honey?" Michael whispered into the darkness. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Sydney said, wiping away her tears with the heel of her hand. "Go back to sleep."

"I wasn't sleeping," he responded, rolling over on his side and pulling her to him. "What are you thinking about, baby?"

She knew he wouldn't have bought "Nothing," so instead she said, "Everything. Is this ever going to feel normal?"

He took his time answering. "I think so," he said. "Once we get where we're going. Start living again. I think I'll feel like a ghost as long as I stay here."

She reached for his hand, lacing her fingers through his. "Ghosts don't get married."

She could feel him smile against her cheek. "That's right," he whispered. "They don't."

She smiled, too. She wanted to twist in is arms and kiss him, but God knew that would only get them started again. Instead she just said, "Love you, Marc."

"Love you, Katie," he responded. 

They'd lied there like that all night. She didn't think either of them had actually slept. She'd been a mess by the time it was time to leave for the airport.

She hadn't asked where they were going. She didn't think it really mattered.

They'd done their best to remain anonymous once they'd arrived at their new home. They'd taken jobs at the luxury hotel that employed most of the island's year-round residents-- simple jobs, jobs like hundreds of other people had. They didn't need to draw attention to themselves, didn't need to have people saying things like, "Oh, that's Marc Chadwick, he's the new history teacher at the high school. Where did they find him, again?" Or, "Oh, that's Kate, she's Dr. Mullins's new receptionist. Has she been on the island long?"

But anonymity couldn't last long. They were good at their jobs, and before long it was, "Oh, that Kate practically runs the front desk, I don't know what they did without her," and, "That Marc Chadwick is a wonder in the kitchen." (Who knew?) Well, they decided, maybe it was okay if people knew who they were. It wasn't really them, anyway. They would just have to make up the details about their new lives as they went along.

It had actually been kind of fun. They'd started working on their story one Saturday when they hadn't bothered to get out of bed, both of them sitting facing each other, naked, while he rubbed her feet. Besides the uniforms that she wore to work, she rarely dressed in anything more than a bathing suit, and around the house, she usually wore a lot less. 

"So, I was born in Corpus Christi," she said, lying back against the mountain of pillows that rested on their bed. There hadn't been much money waiting for them at their final destination, but the house was amazing. When they'd moved in, Sydney had asked who it belonged to.

"No one who's going to be coming back to it soon," Michael had responded. She hadn't asked again.

"Corpus Christi. Mm-hmm," he murmured then, taking his hands from her feet and replacing them once, quickly, with his lips.

"Ew, Marc," she said, wrinkling her nose. "My feet are filthy. I haven't showered since we walked on the beach last night, you know."

"We'll take care of that later," he said, moving to lie next to her. "Or we could jump in the shower now."

"Marc, no," she giggled, offering him a quick kiss.

"Those lips were just on your dirty feet, you know," he teased.

"Mm, so were your hands," she said, taking his and placing them on her waist.

"Come on, baby," he said, leaning over to plant kisses on her neck. "Let's take a shower."

"Later, Marc," she said, but she didn't push him away just yet. "We have to talk about this."

"Talk is overrated," he said, his lips moving down to her shoulder. He certainly thought so lately. After settling in, they'd found their appetites for each other just as insatiable as they'd been that night at the motel, only now it wasn't a need to feel numb that drove their desire. After a year of stolen moments at the warehouse and stolen hours in motel rooms, they were almost giddy at the idea that they were able to be together whenever they wanted. And they wanted often.

"Seriously, Marc," she said, finally forcing herself to push him away. "We've been here for weeks, and we still don't know anything about ourselves. Or each other."

"I know how you taste," he said, moving towards her again.

"Be good," she warned, holding him back by his shoulders. "I'm perfectly capable of breaking your arm in like five seconds flat, you know that, don't you?"

"My girl," he said, rolling his eyes as he settled onto the pillow next to her. "The tough babe."

"You know it," she said, flashing him a smile. The truth was, she would have liked nothing better than to race him to the shower, but if they got started, they'd never get anything accomplished. Sometimes she felt like she spent more time with him inside of her than out. "So, I was born in Corpus Christi."

"You were born in Corpus Christi," he repeated dutifully.

"Did I grow up there?" she asked.

He thought for a moment, a smile playing about his lips. "No," he decided. "Corpus Christi's a big spring break town, you know. South Padre Island and all. Your father knew you'd grow up to be beautiful, and he didn't want-- oh, honey," he said, stopping short when he saw the look on her face. _Her father_. His face still appeared sometimes when she closed her eyes.

"Hey," she said, her voice soft, cautions. "Where, um--" she paused, her eyes glistening with tears as she struggled with the words. "Do you know--"

"He's safe, Katie."

She stared at him for a long moment. He said it with such confidence, but yet she had to ask. "You're sure?"

He offered a quick nod. "Arrangements were made before we left," he said, not meeting her eyes. It was the first time they'd spoken about anything that had happened before. In their past lives. "I wanted to tell you, but--"

"I never asked," she finished for him. "It's okay, darling. Really."

"No, it's not," he said, hanging his head. "I didn't say anything because I didn't want to bring up--"

"Marc," she snapped. "I said it was okay."

He looked away, but not before she saw the pain flash in his green eyes. Damn it. She'd seen nothing but happiness there for weeks. "I hear you cry at night," he said.

Now it was her turn to look away. "I know you do," she said, her voice soft. "You always pull me a little closer."

He moved toward her then, planting a flickering of a kiss on her lips. "I wish I made you as happy as you make me," he whispered.

Her lips softened into a smile. "I'm glad you're so happy," she said, brushing his cheek with her hand. He was so beautiful. "And I can be too, now that I know he's safe."

He offered a shy smile, looking much like the Michael she'd known a long time ago. Before they were lovers. Before they'd even kissed.

"So," she said. "I was born in Corpus Christi--"

His smile widened. "But you moved away when you were four."

Inventing a past had been more difficult than she'd thought. Even determining where she'd moved to after she left Corpus Christi had been a chore. "You have to know the little details of wherever you say you lived," Michael had explained. "Like if you say you're from Colorado, whoever you're talking to is going to regale you with tales about their rafting trips down the Arkansas River, or tell you all about how their cousin Beth broke her leg skiing in Steamboat Springs over Christmas Break. They'll expect you to know what they're talking about, and to have similar stories to tell yourself."

So in the end, Katie and Marc Chadwick's lives ended up quite similar to the ones Sydney Bristow and Michael Vaughn might have lived, if only they'd been born to different parents or made a different choice or two along the way. The thought was fascinating to Sydney-- how different someone's life could be, all because of one decision.

Even more fascinating to her was how much someone's life stayed the same, no matter what choices they made.

After all, Katie and Marc Chadwick, Sydney Bristow and Michael Vaughn had all ended up on the same little island. 


	4. Chapter Three: The Calm Before the Storm

Title: Possession

Author: mojoco

Rating: R

Disclaimer: These characters are not mine, they belong to JJ Abrams and Bad Robot Productions.

Author's Note: Thanks to those who have reviewed the first few chapters.

___________________________

Sydney watched herself in the mirror as she fastened her necklace, smiling as she caught a glimpse of her husband at the closet, buttoning his shirt. Per usual, he looked amazing, but it wasn't the way his clothes fit his body that caught her attention. It was something else.

He noticed her watching him and smiled, a slow, content smile that lit up his green eyes. "What is it, Katie?"

She moved towards him, sliding her arms under his and pulling him to her, gripping him as tightly as he'd held her the day he'd proposed. "You look so great," she whispered in his ear.

It wasn't exactly what she meant to say, and he must have known that, because he didn't respond with an easy, "Thanks, honey," or "You look great, too." Instead he regarded her curiously as she pulled away from him, raking her hands through his already messy brown hair. He hadn't let his hair grow much since his CIA days, but at least she could run her fingers through it now. She hadn't been lying when she'd told him how he looked. The messy hair; the white button-down, loosely tucked into his khakis; the sandals. It wasn't just that he was handsome; he looked so _relaxed_, and she told him so then.

"What's not to be relaxed about?" he responded with a smile. "I'm not sending my girl out to risk her life on a weekly basis." Not long after he'd told her that, to his knowledge, her father was okay, they'd both decided they weren't doing themselves any favors by pretending Sydney Bristow and Michael Vaughn had never existed. After all, if not for the two of them, Katie and Marc Chadwick wouldn't be where they were.

"I'm so happy we're going out tonight, Marc," Sydney said, planting a quick kiss on his lips. They were finally feeling comfortable with each other, finally acting like a normal couple-- going on dates, spending quiet nights in front of the television. She couldn't have put into words how amazing it felt, that level of comfort, intimacy.

"Me, too," he said. "It'll be nice to eat somewhere other than the restaurant in the hotel."

"How is it that I never knew you could cook?" she wondered, planting kisses along his jaw line. "Mmm, Marc. You could use a shave."

"Well, it's not like I could ever offer to fix you dinner, or anything," he pointed out, rubbing his cheek self-consciously. "And you don't like the five o'clock shadow look?"

"Mmm, I suppose it's kind of sexy," she said with a teasing smile. "Just doesn't feel so nice."

He moved to sit on the bed, a troubled look clouding his handsome features.

"What's the matter, Marc?" she asked, settling herself onto his lap. She was so protective of him now, always quick to rush to his side whenever his once infrequent smile left his face.

"Oh, nothing," he said, shaking his head dismissively. "We just did everything kind of backwards, didn't we?"

She smiled. "I guess so, yeah," she said. "Sex, then marriage, then going out on actual dates."

"It didn't bother you, did it?" he asked suddenly.

"What?" she asked, not sure what he meant.

He shrugged his shoulders, staring off into the distance. "Not being able to act like a normal couple," he said, running a hand through his hair. "Sneaking around."

She bit her lower lip, considering. "I don't know if I was bothered," she said slowly. "Scared, I guess, that we were going to get caught."

"You didn't act scared," he said.

She shrugged. "Maybe I wasn't, after awhile," she allowed. "Maybe I got too careless."

Their eyes locked for a moment, and she knew what they were both thinking: that even now, they couldn't get too comfortable. They had to be ready to run if they suspected anyone knew they were still alive, if anyone picked up a clue as to where they were. "And maybe I got used to just seeing you at the warehouse," she continued.

He didn't say anything, only looked at her, waiting to see what she would say next.

She smiled, rubbing her cheek against his, five o'clock shadow be damned. "But I like it much better this way."

And he grinned, pulling her toward him, the two of them falling back on the bed, her on top of him.

"Come on," she said, getting to her feet with a laugh and holding out her hand to him. "We'll miss our reservation."

"Okay," he said, smiling up at her. "Just-- Katie?"

"Yes, Marc?" she said, pulling him to his feet.

He stared at her for a long moment, looking almost choked up as he cupped her face in his hands. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me," he said, his voice full of such tenderness it made her weak in the knees. "You know that, don't you?"

She didn't respond, only returned his kiss, feeling, if only for a moment, blissfully happy. 

She only wished she could push away the feeling that none of this could possibly last. 


	5. Chapter Four: Joined, Linked, Bound

Title: Possession

Author: mojoco

Rating: R

Disclaimer: These characters are not mine, they belong to JJ Abrams and Bad Robot Productions.

Author's Note: Please review, I love to get feedback! Thanks to those who have reviewed what I've written so far!

--------------------------------------------

Sydney knew that after such a glorious start, their night out should have been nothing but wonderful. Instead of enjoying her time with Michael, though, she spent most of the meal staring into space, replaying one thing that he'd said over and over in her mind.

"Katie?" he said, and she jerked to attention. Judging by the look on his face, it wasn't the first time he'd said her name. "Are you okay? You've been a million miles away all night."

"I'm fine, I just--" she shook her head. She'd never felt she had to lie to him before; she didn't see why she should start now. "Tonight when you said I was the best thing that ever happened to you--"

"I meant it," he cut in with a smile.

"No, I know you did," she said quickly. Or at least, she knew he thought it was the truth. "I just started thinking about--" she shook her head, trying to get her thoughts into place. "How differently our lives turned out than either of us probably thought. I mean, when I walked into the CIA that first day, if someone had told you that-- that--"

"If someone had told me that not only would I be put in charge of your case, but I'd fall in love with you, have an affair with you, fake my own death--" he glanced around the restaurant to see if anyone was listening, but the truth was, the story he was telling was too incredible for the average person to believe, anyway. "And marry you under another name?" He shook his head. "I'd have said they were crazy."

"We've never talked about this," she said, leaning forward. "When did you first realize you were attracted to me?"

"Kate," he said, and she smiled as the blush rose to his cheeks. "I--"

"Will there be anything else?"

The two of them glanced up as the waiter appeared as if from nowhere.

"No," Michael said. "Just the check, please."

They waited until he'd disappeared to begin speaking again. "When they took me off your case, in the beginning," he said. "Weiss said something to me, I can't remember exactly what. Something along the lines of wasn't I disappointed that I wouldn't get to see you every week." He shook his head as the waiter returned with the check. Rather absently, he extracted his wallet from his pocket and threw a few bills on the table. "You want to get out of here? Take a walk or something?"

"As long as you keep talking," she said softly. He nodded, standing and taking her arm.

They had been walking for a few moments before he spoke again, stuffing his hands into his pockets as they walked. "I don't think I would have ever consciously acknowledged that I was attracted to you, or at least, not for awhile," he said. "I mean, it wasn't like I could do anything about my feelings, or at least, I wasn't supposed to. But Weiss could see what I was feeling way before I could. And it wasn't like he was the only one. I don't know if I ever told you, but after I was reassigned to your case, the CIA was constantly on my back, analyzing my every move, accusing me of being too emotionally involved."

"No," she said, tucking her arm into his. "You've never told me any of this."

"Well, anyway," he said with a smile. "So I had to think about my feelings for you all the time. And I realized that it wasn't the same for you, that you probably never had anyone put you on the spot about me. So I thought maybe you'd never even thought of me that way. Not that you'd have been horrified at the idea of dating me, just-- I wasn't someone there was a possibility of romantic involvement with. Why would you have even thought about it?"

"Maybe I didn't, for awhile," she admitted. "I mean, I liked you, I found you attractive, I just didn't--"

"I know," he said, raking a hand through his hair. "Then you asked me to that hockey game."

She blushed. "I'm not sure why I did that," she murmured. "I didn't know if I honestly thought I'd get out of SD-6, but I knew-- I mean, I didn't want to never see you again."

"I probably made too much of it," he confessed. "Maybe that was the first time I really knew I wanted something more, too. And I got really bold after that."

"I didn't think so," she protested. "Not too bold, anyway."

"Under normal circumstances, no, the things I said and did wouldn't have been considered bold at all," he said. "But in the situation we were in, making my feelings for you even as clear was I did was wildly inappropriate. And sometimes I absolutely hated the CIA."

"Why?" she asked, resting her head on his shoulder.

He shrugged. "The situation was just completely absurd," he said. "They wanted me not to get emotional about you, yet they put the two of us in one life or death situation after another together. How were we not supposed to feel attached to each other?"

She smiled. "Well, I know it would have been pretty hard for me not to get attached to you." Her tone was teasing, but she meant every word. "Come on, they give me a gorgeous man who wants nothing more than to protect me, keep me safe, and I'm supposed to feel nothing?"

He laughed. "Right. And I was supposed to feel nothing for the gun-toting badass who was calling me at all hours of the day and night--"

"God, I'm sorry," she blurted out. "I really took advantage, relied on you way too much."

"Hey, you needed someone," he said. He stopped walking, turning to her and placing his hands on her waist. "I'm just glad I could be him."

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. "I never told you this," she confessed. "But when you and I were sneaking around, I thought about ending it a bunch of times."

"What?" he said, eyes flashing. "Kate--"

"Not because I wanted to," she said in a rush. "But because I thought you'd be better off without me."

"Katie--"

"I've thought about that a lot," she continued. "What if you'd never met me, if I'd told you I didn't feel the same way after you kissed me for the first time--"

"I'd have died," he said, his voice flat.

She smiled. "You wouldn't have died," she said. "But I think somehow, some way, we would have ended up together, anyway. It just seems like everything had to be so perfect for us to even meet, and then to stay together through everything we have--"

He smile, taking her hand and squeezing it. "It was fate."

And they continued walking, continued to the home they'd finally been able to build together, after every foreseeable obstacle had been placed in their way, and for the first time since she'd met him, she believed that maybe it was fate. That no matter how hard they'd tried to avoid it, they would have ended up like this.

Joined, linked, bound. Each other's most prized possession.


	6. Chapter Five: When It Rains...

As always, these characters are not mine (except for Nina). They belong to JJ Abrams and Bad Robot Productions.

Please review, I love to get feedback! Thanks to those who have reviewed what I've written so far!

------------------------------

"Hey, Kate, what are you doing tonight?"

Sydney smiled at her co-worker, loosening the tie she wore with her front desk uniform. It had been a long day, and she couldn't wait to get home-- especially not with the night she had planned.

"Nikki, Wendy, and I are having a girls' night out," Nina continued. "You should totally come."

Sydney fought the urge to roll her eyes. Nina always waited till the last minute to invite her anywhere. It wasn't that she was a rude person, or that she didn't want Sydney to come. It was just that she was twenty-three, single, no one to check in with, no reason to make plans in advance.

"Actually, I've got to get home," Sydney told Nina. "It's Marc's and my first anniversary." 

"Wow," Nina marveled. "You guys have only been married a year? It seems like you've been together forever."

Sydney smiled. Kate and Marc had been married for as long as anyone on the island had known them; of course it was natural for people to assume they'd been together "forever." If they only knew. "Well, we've been through a lot together," Sydney admitted. Death, even.

Nina glanced at her watch. "You're going to get started with the celebration pretty late." It was already nine p.m.

"Yeah, Marc's not even finished at the restaurant for another couple of hours," Sydney admitted. "We'll probably just open a bottle of champagne, or something. We both have tomorrow off, though, so we'll do some real celebrating then."

"That's cool," Nina said, running a hand back through her dark hair. "I--"

She was interrupted by the sound of a woman, clearing her throat loudly from the other side of the desk. Both Sydney and Nina looked up sharply.

"Reservation for Livingston, please," the woman said, and Sydney thought vaguely that her voice sounded familiar.

Then she lowered her sunglasses, and Sydney's heart nearly stopped.

"I'll be right with you, Ms. Livingston," Nina piped up, before Sydney had a chance to say anything. "Kate, why don't you head home?"

The woman raised her eyebrows slightly, almost imperceptibly when Nina called Sydney _Kate_, though not so imperceptibly that Sydney didn't notice.

"Thanks," Sydney said, then found herself blurting, "Enjoy your stay here, Ms. Livingston."

"Thank you, Ms.--" the woman lowered her glasses to read Sydney's nametag. "Chadwick."

"Actually, it's Mrs.," Sydney said, fingering the ring that rested on her left hand.

Another slight, almost imperceptible raise of the eyebrows from the woman. "So it is."

Sydney moved away from the front desk, but paused only a few feet away. She wasn't sure whether she should stick to her original plan, which was to hurry home and slip into something sexy before Michael got there; to rush back to the kitchen and tell him who she'd seen; or to wait, and have a conversation with this woman, who presumably thought she was dead.

"Mrs. Chadwick, is something wrong?"

Sydney looked up, surprised, into the familiar face.

Her decision had just been made easy.

************

"Would you like a drink?" the woman asked once they were seated on the couch in her suite. Sydney wasn't sure going up to the woman's room with her had been the smartest idea, but she had wanted things to be private. The only alternative would have been to take her home and have Michael waltz in a couple of hours later, champagne and roses in hand. Out of the question.

"I could probably use one," Sydney responded, trying desperately to hide her shaking hands. The woman, on the other hand, looked completely calm, as if she were simply entertaining an old friend.

"I think I'll have one, too," she said, addressing Sydney over her shoulder as she walked to the mini bar, high heels sinking into the plush white carpet. "Do you like bourbon?"

"Sure," Sydney said, glancing around the room uncomfortably.

The woman poured the drink and one for herself, smiling at Sydney as she handed her the glass. "Here you are-- Kate, was it? Or would you prefer I call you Sydney?"

"Sydney is dead, Ms. Livingston," Sydney said, wishing she felt as cool as she sounded. "Or should I call you Mom?"

The moment of silence hung between the two women like a curtain. Finally, Sydney's mother smiled. "Ms. Livingston's first name is Vivian. Maybe you'd feel more comfortable calling me that."

"Fine," Sydney said, setting her lips in a straight line.

"So," Vivian said, settling back against the sofa. There was an elegance, a classiness about her that Sydney couldn't help but admire. Sydney had never felt quite able to exude that brand of cool confidence. "This is a lovely little island you have here, Kate. How long have you been here?"

"About a year," Sydney said, causing her mother's eyebrows to jump nearly to her hairline.

"A year," Vivian repeated unbelievingly. "You do realize that I've suspected you were alive all this time, don't you? I'm quite certain that your father believes you are, as well."

"I assumed that he would." Sydney would have liked to take a sip of her drink, but lifting the glass would have exposed her shaking hands.

"Then of course you realize that if he and I could figure it out, so could other people," Vivian said.

"I suppose so," Sydney said, staring down into her glass.

"And yet you've stayed in the same location the entire year," Vivian said, shaking her head as if amazed at her daughter's utter stupidity. "How foolish. You've let yourself get comfortable."

"I'm not comfortable," Sydney said defensively.

"Well, of course you are, dear," Vivian said, her tone leaving no room for argument. "You've fooled yourself into believing you can have a normal life with this husband of yours. I'm surprised you haven't already done something completely ridiculous, like start a family."

To Sydney's own surprise, her response wasn't a scathing _Of course we haven't_, or _We know better than that._ It was, "Marc would make an amazing father."

"Marc," Vivian repeated, sipping her own drink with practiced ease. "That's not his given name, is it?"

"No," Sydney said, looking her mother square in the eye. "His given name is Michael Vaughn."

She was infuriated to see that the name seemed to mean nothing to her mother. Well, fine. She'd spell it out for her if she had to. "His father was one of the CIA agents you killed."

"Was he?" Vivian said lightly, as if Sydney had just said, "His father was at UCLA the same time you were."

"Yes," Sydney said, setting her glass down on the table next to her and balling her hands into fists. "He was."

"Pity," Vivian said, shifting in her seat. "But I had my reasons."

"Why are you here, Mom?" Sydney had thought she could sit face to face with this woman, but her mother's attitude was making it intolerable.

"Pleasure, not business," Vivian said dismissively. "Nothing that concerns you. Now, tell me, Kate. I'm assuming that your Marc, your Michael Vaughn, is the same CIA agent who was with you when you died, or rather, when Sydney died."

"He is," Sydney admitted.

"Your father called him your handler," Vivian said with a smirk. "I'm not so sure what that means, but he said it as if it were a dirty word."

"You've talked to my father?" Sydney asked sharply.

"Briefly, after your death," Vivian said, her lips twisting into a smile. "He had to disappear shortly after that. Assume his own new identity."

Sydney nodded, wanting to know more, but not sure what questions to ask. Instead she said, "By handler, he meant that Michael was in charge of my case when I worked for the CIA."

"Uh-huh," Vivian said, her tone rich with cynicism. "I'd say he was more than that if he faked his own death to be with you."

Sydney looked away. On the one hand, it was rather freeing to talk about her past with someone other than Michael. On the other, she was none too pleased about who she was having the conversation with. "We fell in love," she said, her voice low.

"Uh-huh," Vivian said again, extracting a pack of cigarettes from her jacket pocket and lighting one up. She held the pack out to Sydney, who shook her head. "You mean you were fucking him."

Sydney opened her mouth, then closed it again. 

"Oh, please," Vivian scoffed. "You'd rather I use a less crude term for it, when the two of you were undoubtedly sneaking around, taking each other any way, any place you could?"

Sydney shook her head. "Call it whatever you want," she said, disgusted. "I know the truth."

Vivian rolled her eyes. "So tell me, Sydney," she said conversationally. Sydney would have snarled for her to call her Kate, but she supposed her name was a little beside the point. "Are you happy, knowing you're responsible for completely ruining your Michael's life?"

Sydney's stomach dropped at the accusation, but she managed to look her mother in the eye. "I didn't ruin Michael's life any more than you ruined mine, or my father's," she said. "We're all responsible for ourselves."

Vivian smirked. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, darling. Now if you don't mind, it's been a long day. And don't you have a husband to get home to?"

Sydney rose from her seat, feeling more than a little dazed. "You never really told me what you were doing here."

Her mother offered her a thin smile. "I told you. Pleasure."

"I don't believe you," Sydney said, her voice flat.

Another thin smile from Vivian-- Irina-- Laura-- whoever she was. "Well, that's your choice, now isn't it, dear? Now get out." 


	7. Chapter Six: The Eyes

As usual, these characters are not mine, they belong to JJ Abrams and Bad Robot Productions.

Please review, I love to get feedback! Thanks to those who have reviewed so far!

--------------------------

Sydney stared at herself in the full-length mirror, smiling sadly at her reflection. The nighty-- white satin, trimmed in black lace, and composed of far too little material to justify its hefty price tag-- looked amazing, of course; though she certainly wasn't getting as much exercise as she had in her spy days, she hadn't exactly let herself go.

No, the problem wasn't with the lingerie, or her body. The problem was, after she told Michael about the encounter she'd had with her mother, neither of them were going to be thinking about the way she looked in a nightgown. She considered changing, though into what, she wasn't sure. She didn't think there was anything in her closet that exactly screamed, _Happy anniversary, darling. Oh, you know my mother? The one who killed your father? Well, she knows we're alive. In fact, some time this week you might be cooking her lunch. _Sydney sighed, hastily throwing on her matching satin robe as she heard Michael's key turn in the lock. "Showtime," she muttered.

She reached the front door to find him juggling a bottle of champagne, a dozen roses, and a styrofoam takeout container from the restaurant. "Marc, honey, let me help you," she said, taking the styrofoam container and the champagne from him as he closed the door.

"Thanks, sweetie," he said, dropping a kiss on her cheek.

"What's in the box?" she asked, placing the champagne on the island counter that rested in the middle of their kitchen.

"Oh, this pasta dish that we served at the restaurant tonight," he said. "I'm sure you've already eaten, but you'll have to try some later, or tomorrow. Here," he said, taking the box from her and handing her the roses in one deft motion. "Happy anniversary."

"Marc, you didn't have to," she said, reaching up to her neck to touch the delicate silver chain he'd given her that morning. She'd given him a watch with an inscription on the back: _To the first of many together._ "But thank you. They're beautiful."

"So is this," he said, fingering the satiny material of her robe. "You look amazing."

__

You should see what's underneath, she thought, but it seemed wrong to tease him like that just before she gave him news that would change both of their lives. "I thought about not wearing it," she said instead. "Considering what I have to tell you."

"Katie, what is it?" he asked, concern knitting his brow.

"Marc--" she said, letting the flowers drop to the counter as she rushed into his arms.

"Katie, baby, whatever it is, it'll be okay," he soothed, pulling her close to him.

"No, you don't understand, I--" she broke away from him, staring up into his green eyes. Once again, she was going to be the cause of his pain, and she hated herself for it.

"Katie, what is it?" he asked, then something lightened in his eyes. "Katie, are you--"

She looked up at him, the question in her eyes reflected in his.

"Are you pregnant?" he asked. For not the first time, she wished she couldn't see everything he was feeling in those eyes of his. Reflected in them was an odd combination of hope and happiness, worry and fear.

"That's what she asked, too," Sydney said, tucking a few strands of hair behind her left ear. "Actually, she said something like, _I'm surprised you haven't done something completely ridiculous like start a family_. I told her that you'd make an amazing father."

"Kate, who are you talking about?" Damn those eyes. Confusion, worry, fear...

"My mother."

He took a step back, his eyes wild. "Kate--"

"Maybe you should call me Sydney," Sydney said. "I mean, it's Sydney's mother that showed up here today. Unless you just want to call her mother Vivian Livingston, but if she's just Vivian Livingston, her presence doesn't mean much here, and--"

"Kate," he cut in. "You're not making sense."

"I think I'm making perfect sense," she said, folding her arms in front of her. "Laura-- Irina-- Vivian-- whoever the hell she is, she showed up here today. I spent an hour with her in her hotel room."

"What is she doing here?" Now Marc was definitely looking more like the old Michael Vaughn, the panicked Michael Vaughn who had told her she wasn't allowed to exist anymore.

Sydney shrugged. "She said pleasure, not business."

"And you believed her?"

"I don't know what to believe," Sydney admitted. "I don't really think she just randomly came here on vacation, but I don't know how much her visit has to do with me."

"Did she seem surprised to see you?" Now Michael was reeling around the room, raking a hand back through his brown hair.

"Not overly," Sydney admitted. "But then, I was working the front desk with Nina. I didn't act terribly surprised to see her, either. Marc, we need to figure out what we're going to do."

"Do?"

"Well, yeah," Sydney said, her voice low. "Do we wait and find out what she's doing here, or do we run?"

"Run?" God, those eyes. Crazed, panicked, hurt...

"Well, like she told me--"

"She? You're taking advice from her now?"

"Some of the things she said made sense, Marc," Sydney said. "If she could find us here, anybody could."

"Katie, that's true of anywhere!" Michael exploded. "Anywhere we go someone could turn up on vacation, or--"

"So what we need to find out, Marc," Sydney cut in. "Is whether she really did come here on vacation, or if she came here looking for us." She didn't much like being the calm, level-headed one in their relationship, but then, she'd had more time to think about all of this than he had.

Her calm seemed to calm him, too, because he took a deep breath. "Maybe you can break into her room tomorrow," he suggested.

"Maybe," she agreed, coming up behind him and wrapping her arms around his waist. "We have the day off tomorrow, we have a lot of time to figure out what we're going to do."

"Some anniversary," he murmured.

"We'll be okay," she soothed. "As long as we stick together, we'll be okay."

He turned to face her suddenly, roughly pulling her to him and taking her lips with his. "I _love_ you," he said once they'd parted, the urgency in his voice startling her.

"I love you, Michael."

She wasn't sure why she called him that, but it caused him to pull away from her suddenly. "We're always going to be Michael and Sydney, aren't we?" The eyes. Stricken. Resigned. "No matter what we're called."

"I thought we decided we didn't mind that so much," she said, her voice soft. "It's Michael and Sydney that have the history."

"It's Michael and Sydney that have to run."

The two of them locked eyes, sharing an unspoken fear of what could be in store for them-- new names, new identities, new lies. After a year together, starting over.

Though not from scratch. After a year of struggling, they finally knew how to be a couple. The hard part was over.

Or so she kept telling herself, anyway. 


	8. Chapter Seven: Run

Title: Possession

Author: mojoco

Rating: R

Disclaimer: These characters are not mine, they belong to JJ Abrams and Bad Robot Productions.

Author's Note: This will be the last chapter, at least for awhile. I might write a sequel eventually, and maybe add an epilogue. Thanks to everyone who provided feedback, I would love to see reviews of this last chapter!

-----------------------------------------

"Katie?"

Sydney's eyes fluttered open to rest drowsily on her husband, who crouched before the sofa she lay on, his green eyes filled with concern.

"What are you doing sleeping down here, baby?" he asked, running a tender hand over her brown hair.

"I must have dozed off," she murmured. The truth was, she hadn't wanted him to hear her cry. Earlier, she'd suggested they open the bottle of champagne, but he'd only shaken his head, saying he just wanted to go to sleep.

"Katie, I'm sorry about how I acted before," he said.

"Don't be," she replied. "I'd had a lot more time to think about things than you did."

"Still," he said, his voice soft.

"Come here," she said with a smile. "Lie next to me."

"Here?" he questioned. "You could come to bed."

"Just lie next to me," she urged, and he obliged her. So rarely had he ever denied her anything. He lie on his side beside her, pulling her to him, his arm draped over her.

"Marc," she said, her voice soft. "Earlier when you asked me if I was pregnant--"

"Let's not talk about it." Lying against him, her back to him, she couldn't see his eyes, but she could hear the pain in his voice.

"You just sounded so happy," she said, her eyes filling with tears.

"I said let's not talk about it." She bit her lip to keep the tears from spilling over.

"I--" she finally managed. "I meant it when I told my mother that you'd make an amazing father."

Instantly she felt him tense up against her. "Sydney, why are you even talking about this?" Not Kate, not Katie. Sydney. "You know it can't happen for us."

"I-- I thought it could, though," she confessed. "I really thought we were safe here. Our own little paradise."

The tension left his body then, and he planted a tender kiss on her cheek. "Maybe we can still find somewhere," he whispered in her ear. "An undiscovered island that no tourists visit."

She smiled. "A cabin in the mountains." She rolled over to face him, caressing his cheek.

His hands moved to her waist, pulling her closer to him. "Somewhere where we can call each other Michael and Sydney, because no one will be around to care or know the difference."

"Let's not wait around to find out what my mother knows, Michael," she rasped, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Let's leave tonight."

"Syd," he laughed. "Where would we go?"

"Doesn't matter," she said recklessly. "We'll keep moving till we find the perfect place."

His expression grew serious as he regarded her. "Are you ready to do this, Syd?" he asked. "Start over, just like we did last year?"

She only smiled at him. Truthfully, she didn't think he even wanted an answer. Were she to attempt one, she would have had to say so much.

"_Just like we did last year_," he'd said. Except they weren't in the same place they'd been the year before. Not even close.

She closed her eyes, smiling as she remembered the two of them a year ago, longer. Two years ago, three. Meeting with him at the CIA.

"_I'm not trying to play you_."

"_We'll see_."

She blinked and another memory was there. Out on a mission, a familiar voice in her ear.

"_Who am I talking to_?"

"_Your invisible friend_."

"_My guardian angel_."

She laced her fingers through his and remembered taking his hand that night at the pier, when she knew so little about him. Only that he was the one person who she didn't have to lie to. The only person she could trust.

"_You realize this is going to change everything_," he'd told her the night they'd first kissed. In a way it had. It had freed them to talk about how they felt each other. After that first kiss, it had become okay for him to kiss her if he felt like it, to take her hand if it felt right, as long as they were in private. But in other ways, it had changed nothing at all. They'd already been so emotionally entangled with one another that for all intents and purposes, they might as well have been sleeping together all along.

"_You can't even exist anymore_." Those had been the magic words that had really changed everything. It hadn't been long after those words were spoken that they'd realized they were it for each other. The only people they would really know for the rest of their lives.

But again, in some ways, very little had changed.

In many ways, this last year, their first as husband and wife, had been the hardest. Oh, hell. The truth was, they'd never had it easy. But it was hard to regret any of it. Yes, they'd already spent a fair amount of time running and hiding. But always with the hope that maybe someday they'd have everything they wanted. A mountain, a beach, a family. She had no idea if any of that was even possible for them. But the thing about Michael? He made her believe that it could be. He believed that she was capable of anything, and deserved everything. Sometimes, just for a minute, she knew that it was true. As long as she was with him.

"We won't be able to be completely rid of Marc and Katherine Chadwick, you know," she finally said. "At least not for awhile."

"Of course not," he said. "We'll need their names, their passports, their drivers' licenses, at least until we get where we're going."

"I wouldn't even want to be completely rid of them, would you?"

"Of course not," he said again, a teasing glint in his eyes. "I mean, it was Katie who made love to me over and over on my wedding night."

She smiled. "Marc who told me that I was the best thing that ever happened to him."

Michael smile, and, sounding a little choked up, said, "Michael would have told you that, too."

Neither of them said what both of them were thinking: that neither would have gotten rid of Marc and Katie, or any other minute of the past three years, for one simple reason: all of those moments had gotten them to where they were that day.

Running.

Together.

**__**

THE END


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